


How Not To Grieve Your Mother

by Tht0neGal666



Series: Rose Colored Glasses on Your Noses [2]
Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types, Detective Comics (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: (And gets a hug!), Alternate Universe - Addams Family Fusion, Angry Tim Drake, Character Death, Dead Janet Drake, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Janet Drake is an Addams, Minor Character Death, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Has Abandonment Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake and Dick Grayson are Siblings, Tim Drake is Robin, Tim Drake is an Addams, why didn't I know that was a tag this is sort of information thats supposed to come to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29734131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tht0neGal666/pseuds/Tht0neGal666
Summary: "Timothy." Dick could just barely hear the phone respond, the drawl young. Maybe even younger then Timmy. "Mother says that Aunt Janet is dead."Tim grit his teeth, and he was so angry, and Dick knew better then most that anger was a part of grief but there was something unsettling about how Timmy was acting. Dick was missing something, and he wouldn't even ask because whatever it was it almost certainly wasn't his business, so he wouldn't pry. He wasn't Bruce."Yes." Tim breathes, pursing his lips and speaking in a very carefully level tone. "She is."
Relationships: Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Wednesday Addams
Series: Rose Colored Glasses on Your Noses [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161704
Comments: 23
Kudos: 301





	How Not To Grieve Your Mother

"Why?" He demands quietly, sitting in front of his computer, reading the coroners report for the umpteenth time and trying to find _some_ sort of clue or puzzle or trick or _test_ , and finding nothing.

"It's just....life, Timmy." A voice sighs, as Dick comes up behind him, sounding _exhausted._ "There isn't always a _why._ Just what happened, and how you keep living anyway."

The sentiment is voiced full of compassion and sorrow, and Tim cringes, because he knows that Dick is trying to help but-

"Of _course_ there's a why." He snaps, reading the report again. She was poisoned. No signs of torture. No signs of malnutrition- she wasn't captured for long. No more then a few days, probably less.

"Timmy..." Dick whispers hoarsely, and Tim doesn't look at him.

Obeah Man- Magic? No, its the same principle- she still would have had to _let_ him kill her.

"You don't get it." Tim whispered, trying to stay calm. He didn't want to lash out at Dick, literally the last person who deserved it. He kind of wanted to pull his Mother out of her coffin and shake her until she snapped at him for being too emotional and impulsive.

In the back of his head, he heard his cousin scolding him about manners.

"I- _I_ don't _get it?"_ Dick sputtered, a warning lacing his tone, and Tim winced as he realized that the claim was in pretty poor taste, but he didn't take it back because it was still _true._

Because his Dad is a _Drake,_ but his Mother is an _Addams,_ and she literally _couldn't_ have died unless she wanted to.

He'd never even imagined loosing her like this. He thought he had a pretty clear image of her death, actually. At the very least, a verbal warning of her intention, or even a letter. She _hated_ loose ends, so he'd never imagined her death, if it ever happened, being something so _sudden._

So her death, halfway across the world and more sudden then a lightning strike is...It's a lot of things. A surprise, first and foremost. A tragedy, just about last. 

An act of spite, quite possibly. Probably, even, Tim would argue. How could he explain _any_ of that to Dick?

"Its...." Tim trailed off, unsure how to explain this without _explaining it_ and without saying anything insensitive. 

"It's what?" Dick presses, and Tim makes an angry sound he'd _charitably_ call a snarl.

"It's not the same!" He says, tightening his fists. "She- your parents _adored_ you, and what happened to them was terrible and tragic and horrifying, but it wasn't- it wasn't what they wanted. It just sucked. You were _sad_ when your parents died." He stresses.

The Obeah Man...he was holding them ransom _for Batman._ Did she know? Was that it? Was Mother so cross with him that she died to punish him? For either being Robin without asking her, or for dragging her into his problem.

"Timmy..." Dick repeated, like a _broken record,_ and Tim wanted to set something large on fire. "You...what do you mean, you aren't sad?" Dick asks, softly, _kindly,_ and Tim stumbles out of the seat and away from the computer before he breaks something.

"I'm so _angry,_ Dick." He admits, starting to pace just to get rid of all this _energy._ "This- She left, and she _lied_ when she said she'd be back, and then she _died,_ and I don't know _why_ and I can't even _ask_ anymore and I have no idea how long she was planning this, if she even lied on _purpose,_ and-"

"Woah, woah Tim, slow down. Your Mom didn't _choose_ to die. She was kidnapped. That _'s-_ think about it logically, Timmy. She didn't die just to spite you, she was- she was murdered." Dick sighed, creeping closer and looking Tim in the eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong, and neither did she."

Tim took a deep breathe, vision going blurry with anger, but he looked at Dick and he just- he was so _sad,_ and worried, and loving, and-

_Dad almost died, did she think he was going to die, did she intend to orphan Tim? Or did she know he wouldn't? What was her plan? Why why why?_

His phone rang, a creepy distorted tune echoing and sending a welcome chill down his spine.

Dick stiffened up, curling around Tim protectively, and Tim sighed.

"I _told you_ you don't get it." He sighed, fight melting out of him. He relaxed into Dick's hold and pulled out his phone out. "This is my cousin. I have to take it."

Because Wednesday _hated_ being ignored almost as much as he did, and he wouldn't risk her wrath if he could help it. He answered the phone before the tune could give him a headache.

\--

"Wednesday." Timmy sighed, closing his eyes and visibly counting to ten.

"Timothy." Dick could just _barely_ hear the phone respond, the drawl young. Maybe even younger then Timmy. "Mother says that Aunt Janet is dead."

Tim grit his teeth, and he was so _angry,_ and Dick knew better then most that anger was a part of grief but there was something _unsettling_ about how Timmy was acting. Dick was _missing_ something, and he wouldn't even ask because whatever it was it almost certainly _wasn't_ his business, so he wouldn't pry. He wasn't _Bruce._

"Yes." Tim breathes, pursing his lips and speaking in a _very carefully_ level tone. "She is."

"That's...a bit odd." The child said slowly, more confused then upset. "I wasn't entirely sure you weren't playing a prank. Pugsley bet me you were."

His brother muffled a strangled noise that had a passing resemblance to a laugh into Dick's shoulder, and Dick managed not to flinch, but his stomach flipped and his brain insisted, again, that something was _wrong_. "It's not a prank, Wednesday. I'm about to start planning the funeral."

"You are? Is Uncle Jack dead as well?" She asked, this time with a mournful note in her voice.

"Coma." Tim corrected tiredly, closing his eyes again. Dick hugged him tighter, and wished he knew what to do _._ Knew how to help. 

Wished this didn't _happen,_ damn it. 

"Oh. Well that's good, at least." She hums. "Father is your next of kin. Does this mean he will be getting custody of you?"

"No, Wednesday." Tim sighed, before Dick could work himself up over the thought. "I'm not leaving Gotham. I'll figure something out."

"Shame. We have a dreadful attic for you. There's a colony of bats up there that we could train to torment Pugsley. You can even name them."

"Tempting." Tim says, with a surprising note of sincerity, "But I will still have to pass. I'm _not_ leaving Gotham, Wednesday _."_

"Hm. I suppose I see your point- I certainly wouldn't pass up the chance to live somewhere so dreadful. _much_ better then the _suburbs."  
_

"We all have our own crosses to bear." Tim replied mournfully. He seemed to relax the longer he spoke with his strange cousin, and Dick wondered why he hadn't met the girl before. Or why Tim rarely spoke of his family, beyond warning them that he'd be leaving the city for a gathering every few months or so. Bruce _had_ to have looked into them, but Dick was mostly in the dark. 

"We certainly do. You will visit soon though, yes? I'm turning 12 next month."

"A unique occasion indeed." Tim laughed, the noise more human. Dick didn't get the joke, but he didn't care. He had _missed_ Tim's laugh, this past week. "I simply _couldn't_ miss it."

"See that you don't. I will mail you a dead bird if you do." She warned.

The threat made Dick flinch in surprise, but Tim lips ticked up into an indulgent smile.

"Then I'll set fire to any webs I find, next time I visit." He returned.

"I will tattle to father that you haven't held a sword since your first Mazurka."

"I will buy you _nothing_ but hero merch until you turn 13." Tim hisses, but his tone has nothing but fond teasing in it. "And Uncle Gomez wouldn't mind that I haven't used a sword, as long as I can demonstrate proper mastery of another weapon or skill to protect my precious people. _Mother_ didn't hold a sword outside of Mazurkas either."

"Oh? And _can_ you?" She asked, voice laced with challenge. 

"Hm. On the one hand, I can assure you I _am_ my Mother's son. But on the other, I suppose you won't really know, because I _will_ be at your birthday." Tim claims, with a tone of finality.

"Dully noted." The little girl sighs, and there is silence for a moment. "I am...sorry about your mother, Timothy. She was simply horrid."

"Yeah, she was." Tim smiled, bitterness mixing with wistfulness, not a _drop_ of anger at the insult. "Thank you, Wednesday. Don't hurt yourself trying to worry for me. I can take care of myself."

"Of course you can, Timothy. Do phone in if you need something anyway, though. Family is important." She presses, almost _scolds._

"Yes, cousin." Tim rolls his eyes.

"And remember to sleep. If you look like a corpse next time I see you, I will bury you appropriately."

"Yes, cousin." Tim repeats through a yawn. Dick yawned too, because Tim did, and pinched him in revenge. Tim shifted his position to just _barely_ press against a bruise that Dick got a few nights ago.

 _Touche_.

"And those....Waynes, yes? Call _me_ if they give you any trouble. You aren't alone, Timothy."

"Yes, cousin." Tim snuggled a little closer to Dick, and Dick played with his hair. Appeased, Tim shifted back away from his bruise.

"And Call mother if you need help with the funeral preparations. You know she loves that sort of thing."

"Yes, cousin." Tim hums. Dick isn't entirely sure he's still listening.

"And call father if you wish to speak about Aunt Janet. He'd love nothing more then to talk until your ears bleed."

"Yes, cousin."

"And- are you even _listening_ to me anymore, Timothy?"

Tim smirks his _Robin_ smile. "Yes, cousin."

The line goes dead without a goodbye. Tim puts his phone down. He takes a deep breathe, and holds it long enough that Dick starts to worry for his health.

"Timmy?" He prods, giving his brother a little squeeze.

Ever so slowly, Tim let the breathe back out, and opened his eyes to look up at Dick.

Dick squinted, because Tim's eyes had always been cyan, he was _sure,_ but now they were a piercing icy blue. 

He dismissed it quickly, though. there were more pressing things, and, in all likelyhood, he was just seeing things. Memory was fickle, for better and for worse, and lighting messed with eyes all the time.

"I'm...sorry for being rude, Dick." He said, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to bring your parents up, its just...I dunno. I don't _know_ how to explain it to you, but it's _different._ I know you want to understand, but I'm not sure you can."

Dick shook his head, nuzzling Tim's hair. The kid needed a shower, he noted absently.

"I...I _do_ want to understand." He admitted, because he wouldn't lie to Tim. Not unless he _had_ to. "But only because I don't know how to help you. I don't need to understand, and I won't make you talk about it if you don't want to. Just tell me what I can do to make you feel even a _little_ better, Timmy. That's all I care about."

Tim hummed doubtfully, but didn't protest. That was fine. Dick could _prove_ he was telling the truth.

Tim yawned again. Dick pinched him teasingly and followed suit, again. It wasn't that late, but time wasn't much of an object on their best days, and this _obviously_ wasn't even that.

"I.....I'm not sure." Tim admitted, so quietly Dick barely heard. "But I...I think I like having you here. Thank you."

"Anytime, Timmy." He cooed, and Tim relaxed. He always did that, when Dick used his name. Almost like he was half-expecting Dick to forget it or something. Dick wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but it was probably bad, and for some reason made him want to punch Bruce.

Bruce had the _paranoid and invasive_ angle covered, for better or for worse, and Dick didn't really care about that. He just wanted to be _here_ for his little brother.

**Author's Note:**

> quick update because *checks notes* I have no impulse control to think of. No Timsteph in this one but, in compensation, introducing Wednesday Addams! Poor dickiebird is SO confused and concerned, though he'll probably chock most of it up to everyone coping with death differently.


End file.
